


A Connotation Of Infinity

by mermaiddrunk



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 06:01:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2762318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mermaiddrunk/pseuds/mermaiddrunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the hundredth time in the past few minutes, Laura thinks about how weird it is, having Carmilla here, in her house when hours ago they were at Silas, fleeing for their lives as the earth shook and croaked beneath them. </p><p>A vaguely plot less excuse to indulge in domestic fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

By the time they make it to the bus stop, there’s a bustling crowd of anxious students waiting for their rides, and the light from the campus is almost blinding. The town hall sirens blare relentlessly for almost two hours before a dead silence falls over Silas and its surrounds - a heavy blanket of foreboding, muted and stifling and Laura thinks it might be worse than the wailing.

Then the booming starts and it takes them a while to realise that it’s actually forming words - a deep voice echoing from an abyss. Carmilla translates some of it to “All shall suffer. All shall be consumed. I am the insuperable-” and then she frowns and guesses that last part could either be “bunny” or “under dweller”. They’re inclined to go with the latter, but LaFontaine points out that the rabbits in the bio labs are kind of terrifying since they learnt to fly, so no-one knows for sure.

Perry and LaFontaine are the first to leave. Laura hugs Perry, wondering how, even in the midst of all the destruction and chaos, she smells like lemon detergent and freshly baked cookies. Before they follow Perry into her sister’s car, LaFontaine presses a flashdrive into Laura’s palm and whispers (a little too loudly in Laura’s opinion), “These are the results from the blood tests we did when your girlfriend was still tied up. I made a graph of useful information. I thought you’d be uh, interested in vampire composition, now that you know…” and then they wink. _Wink._   Laura half wishes the light would devour them all then and there, but she mumbles a thank you, and shoves the usb into her back pocket, stealing a glance at Carmilla, who thankfully is crouched beside her and seemingly preoccupied with digging through her back pack. And then LaF pulls Laura into a tight, quick hug. “This isn’t goodbye, Frosh. There’s a whole world of weird for us to conquer.” They shrug. “Also finals.”

No-one seems to believe that this is the last they’ll see of Silas. As Perry points out, the campus survived The Great Purge of ’55, which makes Lafontaine snicker and say that a fish-people uprising shouldn’t really be referred to as a purge, but whatever.

And then Perry’s tugging them into the backseat, muttering about how those who go looking for trouble are sure to find it.

Carmilla is strangely subdued through the goodbyes, keeping her snark to a minimum and even waving awkwardly at the car as it drives into the distance and away from the terrifying groaning. 

Once they’re alone, or as alone as two people can be with two hundred or so students nervously watching their college campus be devoured by a giant glowing light monster, Laura nudges Carmilla’s shoulder with her own. “Are you okay?”

“Peachy.”

“Are you sure?” Laura shuffles closer, partly because the booming is getting louder and it’s difficult to hear anything over her own thoughts and partly because it’s nice being able to be so close to Carmilla without an excuse. Laura finds her fingers itching to touch Carmilla’s shirt, her hair, her skin. She’d have kissed her then and there, if they weren’t at a grimy bus stop that smelled of stale cigarette smoke and old man urine.

Carmilla sort of leans into Laura, like she’s acknowledging the need for contact. She’s quiet for a long time and then, “Does your father know I’m coming?”

Laura looks up at her, but Carmilla’s eyes are fixed on the florescent horizon. “I mentioned I was bringing a friend home. And even if I didn’t say anything, he really wouldn’t mind.”

“But he doesn’t know that we’re-”

“No,” Laura answers quickly. “I mean, I’m going to tell him. Eventually. Just maybe after we move your stuff into my room.” She shoots a sudden panicked glance at Carmilla. “Not that I’m implying that-- I mean, it’s just that if I told him, he’d put you in the guest room, and that’s really far down the hall and has um… asbestos. An asbestos problem. So it’s better if you stay with me, assuming of course that you’d want-”

“I didn’t pack any blood.” Carmilla effectively cuts her off.

“Oh.” Laura turns to face her and Carmilla shrugs.

“Yeah, I guess I was sort of distracted.”

“We could stop at the butcher’s on the way home. They’ll have blood, right?”

“Sure, and after that, we can show your dad my fangs and remind him to go easy on the garlic for dinner because your vampire girlfriend’s a bit allergic. I’m sure that’ll go over really well.”

Laura blinks, unexpectedly hurt by Carmilla’s caustic tone. “Um, okay.”

Carmilla shakes her head, as if she’s annoyed, but Laura can’t tell who with. “This isn’t how I was supposed to-” she looks down, lightly kicks her duffle bag with the toe of her boot. “This age has no definable social contract. It was so much easier when customary rules of courting dictated ones behaviour around parental figures.”

Laura’s confused for a moment as Carmilla’s antiquated vernacular skittles around in her brain and then she gets it.  “Wait, are you-” she laughs softly, her shoulders shaking. “Is this about meeting my dad? Are you nervous?”

“What?” Carmilla scowls to make sure Laura can see just how deeply offended she is by the implication. “Of course not. Why would I be nervous about meeting a… an insignificant mortal who’s lifespan is woefully incomparable to my mark in this world?”

“Because he’s my dad and you want to make a good impression?” Laura answers, her voice going high at the end.

“Like I care.”

Laura bites down on her lips to suppress a smile and bumps her hand against Carmilla’s. “He’ll like you, I swear.”

Carmilla makes a little noise as if to voice her indifference and Laura can’t contain her smile. “And even if he doesn’t I don’t care, because I like you.” She takes a breath and a chance, “A lot.”

Carmilla says nothing, but glances down and intertwines their fingers.

They only let go when Laura’s dad circles the bend.

______ 

The ride home is sufficiently awkward.

Carmilla is crammed into the back seat along with Laura’s suitcase and her duffle bag. The trunk is full of camping gear and two spare tires “because you can never be too prepared, right Camilla?”

And Carmilla forces a smile and nods before Laura says, “It’s _Carm_ illa, dad.”

It’s at this moment that Laura leans back and her hair falls off her shoulder and her father glances over and gasps. “Laura! Your neck!”

Laura’s hand flies up to cover the two silvery, fading puncture marks, between which a blooming purple hickey has been rather artfully placed.

With his eyes still on the road, he reaches out and swats her fingers away, then glances at her to better inspect the wound.

“It’s a… mosquito bite,” she squeaks out in a weirdly cheery voice and pulls her collar up around it. For her part, Carmilla makes herself as small as possible in the back, perhaps hoping to be absorbed by the seats.

Still, when Laura goes on to say, “They’re really uh, aggressive around this time of year,” Carmilla snorts, causing Laura to whip her head back and glare.

“Well, I hope you got it properly seen to. That bite looks awful.” Laura’s dad flicks on the turn signal as he waits for a car to pass. He is a frustratingly cautious driver. “They carry diseases you know, flitting around like that.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Laura smirks at Carmilla, who rolls her eyes.

The rest of the ride consists of Laura’s dad updating her on the state of their vegetable garden back home and the condition of the tomatoes, with which he’s experimenting after “last year’s disastrous weed problem”.

Laura hums and nods and says all the right things, but every once in a while, her gaze flicks to the rear view mirror, and Carmilla, who is studiously watching Styria go by from the backseat window, finds her eyes and they smile as if they’re the only ones in on some grand secret while the rest of the world remains oblivious.

_______

Apart from one comment about how the entry sign might as well have read “Welcome to Pleasantville,” Carmilla doesn’t grumble much about the general suburbanness of the town until they pull up to the house, and she leans in to ask Laura if they own a timeshare with Santa.

To the outsider, Laura concedes that the lights and the decorations and the wreaths and the candy canes might be a _bit_ much, but it’s tradition, and no one messes with tradition. She tells Carmilla as much.

“Fine, but don’t except me to hang up my socks.”

“Stockings.”

“Whatever.”

They trudge up the snowy steps, while Laura’s dad shovels the driveway.

Laura hurries to start a fire (electric, of course, because they’re _much_ safer than the real thing), while Carmilla walks around her, making no effort to help.

Her hands are buried deep in her pockets, as though scared to touch anything and when she leans forward to inspect the various photographs on the mantle (mostly of Laura at various ages) Laura finds herself suddenly self-conscious.

Mounted on the wall is a photograph that was taken just a year prior. It’s a yearbook shot of the school newspaper team, with Laura in the middle, smiling eagerly at the camera.

She watches Carmilla survey it with interest and realises, with an unexpected bout of nostalgia, how removed that life is. After a semester at Silas, everything before seems unreal, almost dream-like, which is ironic considering the college might as well offer a major in nightmares.

Carmilla moves on to one specific picture of a grinning, gap-toothed six-year old striking a pose in full taekwondo gear.

“I did a year of taekwondo before Jacob Steiner gave me a bloody nose and dad thought that Krav Maga would be more practical, which I guess is true.” Laura rambles. “He wanted to sign me up for vocal coaching as well so I could scream better if I was ever attacked, but it clashed with my horse-riding less – what?”

She stops in mid-sentence when Carmilla turns to look at her with this soft, new, sort of dopey expression that Laura finds she is utterly charmed by.

“You’re adorable,” Carmilla drawls, walking towards Laura, her mouth turned up in a warm smile and for the hundredth time in the last few minutes, Laura thinks about how weird it is, having Carmilla here, in her house when hours ago they were at Silas, fleeing for their lives as the earth shook and croaked beneath them.

She scoffs, feigning insult. “I’m not _adorable_.”

“Yes, you are.” Carmilla replies as if she’s the authority on the subject. She reaches out and twists the ends of Laura’s hair around her fingers then tugs her forward until they’re chest to chest. “You are-” She kisses the tip of Laura’s nose, “-absolutely,” the side of her mouth, “-adorable.” Laura nips at Carmilla’s lower lip to prove just how “not adorable” she can be and then they’re kissing, in the middle of the Hollis living room, on this strange afternoon.

There’s still a kind of wonder in the kiss, as if neither can quite believe the other is allowing it to happen. Carmilla takes a step forward, and then another and soon Laura is backed up against the face brick wall beside the fireplace, the rough wall digging into her back as Carmilla hooks her fingers in the loops of Laura's jeans and pulls her forward, crashing their hips together and Laura feels blunt teeth scrape at the “mosquito bite” on her neck.

“You smell good enough to eat,” Carmilla hums against her in a thick voice that has heat swirling in the pit of Laura’s stomach, and she cants her hips, seeking contact, friction _, something_.

“We can go-” Carmilla captures her mouth and sucks on her tongue “…the butcher-” she whines involuntarily when Carmilla’s lips move against her jaw, up, towards her ear, “…after we-”

“How do you two feel about lasagne for dinner?”

Carmilla jumps back with unnatural speed and for a second, Laura wonders if she’s going to turn into a cat and hide behind the couch cushions and she laughs, despite her pounding heart.

“Goddamnit.” Carmilla glares at her half-annoyed, half-panicked and Laura laughs harder.

“So what do you say?” Her dad comes through the front door, snowflakes falling from his hair and eyebrows as he totes Laura’s suitcase and Carmilla’s duffle bag into the living room.  

“Sounds good.” Laura’s still grinning, until she realises that Carmilla had somehow undone her jeans button and she attempts to discreetly pop it back in the hole.

Oblivious, her father rubs his hands together. “It’ll give you a chance to sample the new tomatoes. I saved them from the frost in the nick of time.” 

“You uh, you really don’t have to do that.” Carmilla’s fingers flex in nervous habit as he lifts her bag, presumably to move it to the guest room.

Laura looks from her dad to Carmilla, whose face is stuck in this weird half-grimace that she adopts whenever forced to interact with him.

“Dad, I was thinking that Carmilla should probably stay in my room. She’s sort of going through something and we wanted to talk,” she says in a rush and Carmilla shakes her head almost imperceptibly as if to say, “No, no, no, don’t make this about me.”

Laura flashes her father the sweetest smile in her arsenal. “Ya know, girl bonding time.”

He looks past Laura’s shoulder at Carmilla, who seems to be communing with the floorboards, and then back at Laura, all guileless brown eyes.

“Alrighty,” he says finally, adjusting the bag on his shoulder and lifting the suitcase. “I guess these both go upstairs.”

“We’ll do it,” she says quickly, reaching for the suitcase. “I feel bad enough that you had to drive all the way-”

“Honey, a bomb scare is no joke. I’m glad the school did the responsible thing and got you all to evacuate.” He reaches out and places a hand on her shoulder in a slightly awkward gesture. “And I’m glad you called me.”

Carmilla walks past them, interrupting the moment by reaching for the bag at Laura’s dad’s feet and swinging it over her shoulder before making for the stairs. “This way then?”

Laura shoots her dad a quick smile and bounds up after Carmilla.

______

“Don’t judge.”

It’s worse than Carmilla ogling baby pictures in the living room. Because this is her sanctum sanctorum. And she wants Carmilla to like it, or at the very least feel comfortable in it. It doesn’t help that since she’s been gone, her dad cleaned out the attic and apparently thought it a good idea to move all of her high school debate team trophies and middle school spelling bee certificates to her bedroom shelf. Also displayed is her impressive poster collection including a limited edition Doctor Who print beside a faded Fellowship of the Ring magazine cut-out. Laura groans internally when Carmilla reaches out for a large, tatty-eared elephant in a tie-dye t-shirt with, “Groovy” written in big loopy letters. She holds it up next to her face and turns to Laura with an amused expression. “Friend of yours?”

She can _feel_ herself blushing. “That’s Mr Trunks,” Laura says quickly, and grabs him out of Carmilla’s hand before opening her closet and shoving him in. She whispers a soft, “sorry” to the elephant before closing the cupboard door and turning back.

“I like elephants,” Laura mumbles, feeling the need to justify Mr Trunks’ existence.

Carmilla’s lips twitch. “Clearly.”

Laura crosses her arms over her chest. “Oh, like you never went through an embarrassing… hippie phase or something.”

Carmilla makes an appalled face. “I’ll have you know that I was never into “hippies”. Those unwashed tree-huggers all tasted like pot.”

Laura doesn’t bother to explain that she meant a “being a hippie” phase as opposed to an “eating hippies” phase. She supposes the distinction doesn’t matter much anyway.

“Besides, I spent most of the sixties in Japan.”

Laura’s eyes light up in curiosity. “Really, what was it like?

“Strange, beautiful, chaotic.” Carmilla’s face turns wistful. “There was this little fishing village in Kyoto. I spent months there in a teahouse, away from the whirr of the expanding city. It was the first time Mother allowed me to go travelling on my own again after…” she trails off and turns to the big bay window from which one could see into the foresty surrounds beyond the backyard. Deep greens covered in almost blindingly white snow. “Anyway. It was a different time.”

Laura comes up next to Carmilla, trying to find her line of sight, see what she sees. There’s a moment of quiet before Laura points to the window seat and says, “I finished all seven Harry Potter books in this spot.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

She turns her head just a fraction to look at Carmilla, who’s paler than usual, and a little gaunt and Laura remembers that she hadn’t eaten since that morning, and even then it was just a sip. “You must be exhausted,” she says finally, and Carmilla drags her gaze away from the verdant landscape. “You haven’t exactly had time to rest since-”

“Shoving a magical sword into the face of an evil light monster?”

Laura nods. “Yeah. And then you were alone in that pit for days and-” suddenly her voice breaks, and she doesn’t mean to get all teary, but suddenly there are all these _feelings_ and she realises that Carmilla’s there. She’s _there_ and she’s safe and they’re not all dead and it’s overwhelming in the best kind of way. It’s only when Carmilla says, “Hey, cupcake. Hey…” in a soft voice that Laura realises she’s sniffling.

“I’m sorry,” she says wiping at her wet eyes with the heel of her hand. “I’m being stupid. It’s just-” she shrugs a shoulder. How does she go about explaining to Carmilla how happy she is that she’s not dead, and how awful things were when she thought she was?

But then it doesn’t matter, because Carmilla’s arms are around her. Real arms wrapped around her in a real hug and Laura realises that this might be the first time they’ve done this. 

They stand there for a while, until Carmilla buries her face in Laura neck, and Laura squirms because she’s ticklish and because the tip of Carmilla’s nose is cold and because Carmilla’s making a weird purring noise in the back of her throat that sets off all kinds of alarm bells and other kinds of bells and Laura says, “We should probably get you that blood, huh?”

Carmilla looks almost sheepish and then makes a show of tugging on the collar of her t-shirt and sniffing it.  “I should shower first, before I start to mould.”

______

Laura closes her fingers over the white bathroom doorknob. She can hear the steady stream of water from the shower. Carmilla’s been in there for nearly an hour. Checking on her is the responsible thing to do. It’s only… hospitable. Carmilla is her guest. She should make sure she’s all right.

Also, it’s been nearly an hour and Laura misses her.

Slowly, she turns the knob, telling herself that if it’s locked, she’ll go downstairs and help her dad peel carrots and forget about this whole thing. She’ll wait until after Carmilla’s out to tell her about the problem with the butcher. They’ll figure something out. _After_.

But it’s not locked.

She opens the door just a crack and hot, white tentacles of stream slither out as she slips inside.

She can make out Carmilla’s lithe body behind the frosted glass and for a moment, she’s transfixed. It’s like watching a moving water colour painting. Then the painting turns to the side, still facing away from Laura, but closer now to the door and the blurry column of pale skin is peppered with darker colours here and there and Laura looks down, at her feet, at the tiles, at the new cranberry coloured towels her dad had bought since she left.

After about a minute of _not_ looking at Carmilla, the door swings open and a very wet, very naked vampire emerges with a surprised yelp.

“What the-”

Laura fumbles for a towel off the railing and holds it out, averting her eyes. “I wasn’t looking, I promise.”

Carmilla, takes her time in reaching for the towel, still bemused as she wraps it under her arms before tucking the end between her breasts. “If you wanted to join me all you had to do was ask.”

Once she’s sure Carmilla’s all covered up, Laura looks up to discover the strangest thing – Carmilla’s skin, which was pink-tinged from the heat is rapidly losing its colour, like an apple left out too long, except instead of browning, she’s turning a waxy sort of grey and Laura’s reminded of those last few days of The Great Vampire Capture. Residual guilt gnaws at her, strengthening her resolve and she says, “I’m not here for-” she swallows as Carmilla takes a step forward, effectively pinning her against the sink “-that.”

“Then why are you here?” Carmilla leans down slightly, bringing them to eye level. The paleness of her skin makes her eyes, framed by wet eyelashes look even darker and Laura thinks, _Wow_ before she thinks, _C’mon, Laura, get it together_.

“I had a thought,” Laura practically whispers, her eyes flitting between Carmilla’s mouth and her eyes.

“Hmm. A thought that couldn’t wait until I was slightly less naked?”

“I wanted privacy.” She watches Carmilla bite down on her lip as she considers her next words.

“Listen, poptart,”

Laura scrunches up her face. “Poptart? Really?”

“While I’m all for privacy and whatever else you have in mind, maybe we could table this whole bathroom seduction until after our little trip to the butcher, because right now, I’m feeling a little,” she sings out the last word and makes a wavering gesture with her hand.

“Yeah. About that.”

Carmilla raises her eyebrows expectantly.

“The butcher’s closed until Wednesday." Laura says in a rush and Carmilla deflates somewhat.

“Oh.” She taps a finger against her lips as she thinks. "Well, we could always break in,” she offers as if _of course_ felony is the obvious alternative. “Or… What kind of wildlife do you have around here? Granted, it’s been a while since I’ve slummed it with an elk, but I guess desperate times…”

“Or,” Laura steels herself for what she’s about to say. She grips the edge of the sink behind her and stands up straight, inadvertently brushing against the front of Carmilla’s towel. 

In a move she may or may not have practised in the mirror, she reaches up and pulls her hair aside, revealing the long line of her neck, already blemished by those two little holes and a hickey.

“Laura?” There’s a hint of panic in Carmilla’s voice.

“Drink me.”

Carmilla looks wary and leans back. “This isn’t the only option.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Laura says firmly. “And I know you won’t hurt me… more than you need to.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Carmilla replies, even as she closes the gap between them. “I can figure something out.”

Gently, she runs her fingers down the column of Laura’s neck and Laura shivers.

“But it’s making you all twitchy.”

“I am _not_ twitchy.”

“You so are twitchy.”

Carmilla’s lips quirk up in a smile that falls away almost immediately when she finds Laura’s eyes. “Are you sure?” Her pupils are already dilating to the point that her irises are an almost inky black.

“I’m sure.”

Laura's breath hitches as Carmilla leans down and softly brushes her lips against Laura’s neck.

Then she kisses her.

Once, twice, sucking on her skin, scraping her still-rounded teeth against those barely faded scars.

Laura finds her grip on the sink tightening as Carmilla pushes in closer, completely eliminating whatever space remains between them. She fits her body against Laura’s and Laura can feel her clothes getting damp from the wet spots on Carmilla’s towel.

She smells like berries, Laura thinks a second before two sharp teeth pierce through the soft flesh of her neck.

She swallows a cry, because it hurts. It really, _really_ hurts. Maybe even more than the first time, which is possibly because Carmilla seems to have reopened that same holes from before, breaking through the newly formed scar tissue and nerve endings. Warm tears spring to her eyes and she wills herself not to whimper out in pain.

Carmilla’s right hand curls over the lip of the sink beside Laura’s and the other tangles in her hair, cradling her head for leverage.

After a few admittedly excruciating seconds, the pain ebbs and subsides and gives over to a new sensation as Carmilla begins to drink.

It begins with a tugging, a sort of pull as if something inside of Laura is coming undone at an uncontrollable pace. Her stomach muscles quiver, her knees tingle, her fingertips buzz. It’s an intensely visceral thing. She feels her grip on the sink slacken and then she’s falling forward and Carmilla’s arm is around her waist, keeping her upright, keeping her tethered.

Warmth blooms inside of her, starting in her belly and spiralling up, down, sideways. She arches against Carmilla, suddenly seeking, where before she was fighting the urge to pull away. Against her neck, Carmilla alternates between sucking and lapping, all the while making this deep hum against Laura’s neck.

Her skin is suddenly hot, and Carmilla’s arm encircles her, pulling her closer even as she leans forward, pressing Laura up against the sink, inserting her bare thigh between Laura’s legs. A deep, guttural moan echoes through the stream filled bathroom and it takes Laura’s hazy brain a moment to realise it had come from her. Her body is a pulse as she slides her hand up Carmilla’s neck and pushes her head down, wanting to be consumed, absorbed, fucked.

Somewhere, deep down, buried under the skin-tingling and tummy-swirling part of her knows this reaction isn’t normal, that she shouldn’t _enjoy_ being drained dry, but she finds she cannot bring herself to care.

She gasps and gapes like a fish yanked out of watery depths when Carmilla moves her thigh up and against her and Laura arches into the pressure. She's wet and trembling and _hungry,_ even though it's Carmilla who's feeding.And it’s so much. _So much_. She feels herself slipping away and into oblivion.

“Carm…” she manages in a wispy tone.

Carmilla tightens her hold on Laura’s hair, fingers painfully gripping her scalp and the haze begins to wear off. “Carmilla, wai… ugh.”

It’s this frustrating push and pull between knowing she has to end it and wanting to lose herself completely. Eventually, Laura manages to push against Carmilla’s chest. “Stop.”

She says it softly, but forcefully and all at once, Carmilla tears her mouth off Laura’s neck and looks down at her with wide, slow blinking eyes, as if she too is awakening from some sort of spell.

She exhales a breath she doesn't need through parted and blood-stained lips. Laura can feel the rise and fall of her chest against Carmilla's and the urge to lean forward and kiss her is almost overwhelming, but she’s not sure she wants a mouthful of her own blood.

Sluggishly, with eyes never leaving Laura’s, Carmilla wipes the back of her hand across her mouth and licks her lips of the remaining blood.

“I guess I was hungrier than I thought.” Her voice is low and ragged. “You okay?”

“F-fine,” Laura stutters and Carmilla reaches past her, for one of the tissues from the countertop. 

“Is it always that… intense?” She’s dizzy and her knees feel weak and her neck is throbbing, but her body as a whole is whirring and pulsing. Carmilla wets the paper with cool water and presses it gently against her neck.

“No,” Carmilla replies shortly, putting pressure on the wound. “That was…” it’s only when she reaches out for another tissue that Laura realises Carmilla’s trembling. 

“That was new.” She pulls back to regard Laura who looks at her with big, curious eyes, and Carmilla sighs.

“When vampires feed, we have the ability to sort of… manipulate our victims’ emotions. To take away the fear so they don’t struggle. Makes it easier.”

Laura frowns. “That’s-” Awful, horrific, a violation. These are the things she thinks. These are the things she cannot say. Not when Carmilla’s looking at her like she’s terrified Laura’s about to run for her life. “Is that what you did to me now?”

Carmilla shakes her head. “I thought about it, but…” she runs her fingers through her damp hair. “Sometimes, instead of altering a victim’s emotions, you end up absorbing them. It mostly happens with kittens- new vampires,” she clarifies. “They end up taking on all of their victims’ pain and suffering and spend all of their teenage years re-enacting an angsty Anne Rice novel. It’s all very tedious.” Carmilla looks at Laura for a long time before saying, “It’s never happened to me. Before now.”

 “You’re saying you absorbed my feelings?”

“I’m saying, that before I fed off you, you were obviously hot for me.”

Laura’s immediate reaction is to pull a face. “What? I was not. I so was- maybe. A little.” And when Carmilla’s eyebrows move into perfectly raised arches she sighs, “Okay, yes. A lot.”

“Well, I guess there’s a first time for everything.” She runs her thumb tenderly over the bite mark which has stopped bleeding. “You’ll have to wear something to cover that up.”

“Will it be like that every time?’ Laura asks, aware of the implications of the question.

Carmilla’s lips curl up into the barest hint of a smile. “I don’t know. Would you mind?”

Slowly, Laura shakes her head.

Carmilla doesn’t have blood on her lips anymore. But they’re red and tempting. And as she leans up, Carmilla leans down, anticipating the kiss.

Her mouth is coppery, metallic. Like their first kiss. Like, Laura imagines, many kisses that will follow. It isn’t necessarily unpleasant, just different. Very different.

Carmilla’s places her hands either side of Laura, effectively caging her in and vaguely, she thinks about changing their position to one that doesn’t involve a sink edge digging into her lower back, but then Carmilla is tugging at her lip and Laura reaches out to grip her hips through the thin, damp towel. The material bunches in Laura’s hands and she knows that if she were to tug just a little harder, she could pull it off easily. But what then? She tries to go through the if/then logic of the scenario, but Carmilla’s hands have found her waistband and have gone to work pulling her shirt tails out from her jeans. Laura abandons the idea of disposing of the towel if only because it means she’s got to take her hands off Carmilla’s hips and she likes them there and the way she can move them around and cup –

“Laura! Sweetheart?”

Laura's head jerks back and hits the mirror only to bounce off and knock against Carmilla’s nose.

“Fuck! Ow. Fuck.” Carmilla jumps back, and wiggles her nose experimentally, as if to make sure it’s still there.

Laura claps a hand over her mouth. “Sorry! I’m sorry.”

“Laura?! Honey are you up there?” Her dad’s voice filters up the stairs. “Could you give me a hand with the table?”

“Coming!” she yells back, still looking at Carmilla with a contrite expression.

“I should-”

Carmilla rolls her eyes, “Yeah. Go.”

She leans up and gives Carmilla, who looks utterly unimpressed by the turn of events, a quick kiss on the cheek before escaping through the door. Halfway to her bedroom, Laura hears a crash and a loud, “Oh for the love of-” and wonders which turtle neck would best hide her neck.


	2. Chapter 2

The kitchen smells of rosemary and nutmeg and olive bread and baking lasagne. It smells like home in all the best ways.

Laura’s dad is a pretty exceptional cook, which is something of a miracle considering that after her mother left, all he could manage were fish sticks and microwaved mac and cheese. Of course there was absolutely no nutritional value in either of those things, and he didn’t want his daughter developing scurvy before preschool, so he taught himself to cook and became pretty damn good at it. This is why Laura will never, _ever_ let him know about the delicious, additive-laden contents of her mini fridge, for fear of breaking his heart and, or prompting an hour-long lecture on the dangerous effects of artificial food dyes.

Laura’s got a finger in the cherry pie filling when she hears “Caught red-handed.” She whirls around, and pops the finger in her mouth with a guilty expression and Carmilla tsks.

She’s all clean and pink-cheeked, most likely the result of her recent feed, dressed in her ripped jeans and an oversized burgundy sweater. Laura didn’t think Carmilla owned anything long-sleeved but she supposes it makes sense, for appearances sake. Still, her stomach does a little flip.

Laura licks the remaining mixture from her fingertip. “I was… testing it.”

Carmilla looks unconvinced. “And your findings?”

“It’s really good. Dad’s “lady friend”,” she uses big air quotes. “... Angela makes the filling from fresh cherries, and brings it out here around Christmas time.”

Wait,” Carmilla drawls. “Your dad has a girlfriend?” She sounds amused. “Go Mr Hollis.”

Laura pulls a face. “Ew. Don’t say it like that.”

Carmilla pushes herself up on the counter top besides the pie dish covered in still-doughy crust and Laura itches to tell her to get off, because “kitchen surfaces are for bowls, not bums”, but she resists, mostly because Carmilla’s knees are right next to her. Laura finds she likes Carmilla’s knees. She also likes her elbows and her earlobes and all the little parts of a person you never really think about.

“So where is ‘he of the impeccable timing’?”

“In the shed. Some of the lights fell down on the back porch and he’s restringing them before it gets dark.”

“Of course he is,” she says, but not unkindly.

Carmilla watches Laura scoop with pie filling into the dish, licking her thumb every time it gets covered in the sticky red mixture. Once she’s done, she lifts the thin sheet of pastry to cover it. She finishes by pushing a fork into the sides to keep it together. Carmilla watches all of this with a sort of bored fascination. The pie will go in the oven later, so Laura puts it aside and sticks the filling covered spoon in her mouth.

“That can’t be good for you,” Carmilla observes.

“But so delicious,” Laura replies, pulling out the spoon with a smack of her lips.

“Well, you know, it’s rude not to share.”

Laura looks at the mostly empty bowl. “Well, there’s not much le-” And then Carmilla leans forward and catches Laura’s sleeve before pulling her between her legs.

She bends and darts her tongue out to lick at the smear of sweet cherry pulp at the corner of Laura’s mouth.

“A little tart,” she whispers.

Laura grins and goes in for another kiss. It’s sweet and playful and she giggles when Carmilla nudges her nose in an eskimo kiss. She could do this all day. Or… until the front door rattles and her dad comes whistling in.

Carmilla groans and lets her head fall against Laura’s shoulder for a second before Laura pirouettes away and towards the dishes in the sink.

“This is ridiculous. I’m three hundred and thirty four years old. I shouldn’t have to censor my actions because of-”

“Carmilla,” Mr Hollis walks into the kitchen blowing air into this cold hands. “Kitchen surfaces are for bowls, not bums.”

She’s off in a flash.

______

“So Carmilla, Laura tells me you’re a philosophy student.”

Carmilla takes a sip of her water, as if hoping to delay the answer. “Sometimes.”

If Laura’s dad is confused, he doesn’t show it. “And you enjoy your studies?”

“It’s one of the more adequate courses.” Laura’s foot knocks against hers and she bares her teeth in what Laura thinks might be an attempt at a smile.

“Yes. I enjoy it very much, thank you.” Her voice goes unnaturally chipper and Laura thinks that maybe the indifferent monotone was better.

“I imagine you do a lot of reading then?”

“The usual amount.”

“Well, you’re clearly an intelligent young woman.” He smiles at her in a genuine, unaffected way. “Perhaps you can knock some sense into my daughter, who seems to think journalism-”

Laura stiffens. “Dad, come on.”

They’ve had this discussion before.

He puts down his fork and shakes his head. “Well, sweetheart, it’s just that investigative journalism has so many risks. Why willingly put yourself in situations that might lead you to harm?”

Laura says nothing. She feels her father’s eyes on her. She feels Carmilla’s eyes on her.

“I just want to make a difference,” she mutters softly, buttering her bread roll a bit more aggressively than necessary.

“And you can. Your writing is exceptional. That doesn’t mean you should go looking for-”

“Laura got an A minus.”

Both Laura and her father turn their heads to Carmilla, who looks as surprised as they do by her sudden outburst. “On her journalism project,” she says in a quieter voice, looking suddenly self-conscious. “It was… pretty extraordinary.”

Laura practically gapes at Carmilla, whose sudden interest in poking at her lasagne with her fork has intensified.

“You did?” Laura’s dad grins crookedly, proudly and Laura tears her eyes off of Carmilla long enough to shrug.

“It would have been an A, but... things got a bit crazy at the end. Deadline crazy, not end-of-the world crazy. Or anything.”

‘Well, honey that’s just… that’s brilliant.” He picks up his glass of water (because soda contains far too much carbonated sugar) and holds it up. “To surviving your first semester.”

Laura turns to Carmilla and they stare at each other for a second, and then Laura breaks into hysterical laughter, while Carmilla grins, pats her on the back and sips her water.

Later, as Laura clears the table and Carmilla stands analysing the various knick-knacks on the fridge door, including an ancient drawing of what might possibly be an elephant, Laura says, “So… _exceptional_ , huh?”

It takes Carmilla a second to realise what she’s referring to and then she looks almost sheepish and rolls her eyes for good measure. “Shut up.”

Laura’s still smiling after Carmilla bounds up the stairs, leaving her alone in the kitchen with a pile of dirty dishes.

______

Carmilla stretches, making a satisfied sound deep in her throat and lazily raises an arm above her head. Unabashedly, she watches Laura flit about her room, digging through her suitcase for her pyjamas, which she sniffs and throws back into the pile.

She gets a tank top and a fresh pair of bottoms out of her drawer and tosses it over her shoulder before turning to Carmilla. “I won’t be long.”

Carmilla shrugs languidly. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

The image of Carmilla lounging on her covers fills her with a giddy sort of excitement.

It’s a day of firsts. Kisses, hugs, apocalypses.

Laura will go to the bathroom. She will take the briefest shower known to womankind, and then she will come back to Carmilla. In her bed.

It’s a heady thought.

The shower ends up being longer than she anticipated, because Laura decides to shave her legs. And pluck her eyebrows. And condition her hair instead of just shampooing it and leaving it to dry. It isn’t that she’s primping per se, but she wants to look pretty. She wants Carmilla to _think_ she’s pretty, which is silly and redundant considering that Carmilla’s seen her at two am on a Wednesday morning, with greasy hair, two day old clothes, surviving off a diet of snack cakes and grape soda, and probably smelling like something that lived in an underground burrow.

But somehow it’s different now. And it feels _important._

She checks reflection and nods. Okay, she thinks. _Here we go_.

She comes in, quietly, and finds Carmilla in much the same position as earlier. Except that Laura’s well-read copy of ‘A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’ open on her stomach.

And she’s asleep.

Laura’s disappointment is tempered only by the fact that Carmilla asleep is kind of adorable, which is another new development. It’s as if now that she’s given herself permission to feel all of her feelings, everything seems heightened. The everyday, mundane things that before were rote and uninteresting are now suffused with meaning and significance.

And so, very carefully, she crawls onto the bed. Carmilla lies unmoving, unbreathing, which would be totally alarming, if her eyelids weren’t flickering ever so slightly.

Laura wonders what vampires dream of and if Carmilla’s subconscious ever gets tired of everything it’s collected and retained in her centuries of living.

Gently, she removes the book and places it on the nightstand before manoeuvring her body to curl around Carmilla’s. She would get under the covers, but then she wouldn’t be able to lay her head on Carmilla’s chest, over the soundless hollow where her heart used to beat.

This is how she falls asleep.

____________

A low hooting flutters at the edge of her consciousness and Laura turns over with a groan, annoyed at whomever is in the dorm hallway making stupid owl noises at goddess knows what hour, until she realises that the mattress underneath her feels softer than usual, and the pillow beneath her head slightly fluffier and as lucidity takes hold, she remembers that she’s not in the dorm at all, but at home, in her own room, in her own bed… with Carmilla. Laura reaches out a sleep-heavy arm only to find the space next to her cold and empty. She sits up and blinks her eyes, waiting for them to adjust to the darkness.

“Carm?”

“Right here.”

She turns to see Carmilla at the window seat, her knees tucked under her chin, her head resting against the cold glass as she looks out into the darkness.

Laura rubs her eyes and realises she’s under her duvet.

“Did you tuck me in?”

Carmilla turns away from the window to look at her. “You were cold.”

“Thanks.”

Carmilla smiles at her. It’s that new, closed mouthed, almost shy smile that makes Laura feel all warm and fluttery and she throws off the blankets and walks to the window.

Carmilla scoots back a little and Laura sits next to her, her back to the glass, her face to Carmilla and as Carmilla watches the night, Laura watches her. She wonders absently how they got here, to this place where she feels filled up with all the letters that make up Carmilla’s name... all of them. It’s like a middle-school crush, where all she wants to do is draw hearts on windows. _L 4 C._ And it’s more than that too. It’s realer than anything she’s felt before, bigger, terrifying.

She knows Carmilla feels it as well. The weight of it, whatever this thing is between them. She knows because of the way Carmilla sighs against her mouth when they kiss, and the way she looks at Laura like she’s afraid she’ll disappear, or run away. And Laura wants to say, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” But it’s only been a day and she doesn’t want to make promises she doesn’t know she can keep.

Instead, she says, “What are you looking at?”

Carmilla presses a fingertip against the misty widow and slides it down, leaving a trail of clean glass.

“It’s snowing,” she says softly. And Laura looks. It’s bright outside, the half-moon reflected against a shimmery blanket of snow.

“It’s freezing,” Laura counters, wrapping her arms around herself. She can feel the chill coming off of the glass and she knows she should put on something warmer, while Carmilla sits there, in a black short-sleeved tee, and then she turns her head languidly.

“You should get back in bed.”

“I’d rather be here.” Laura scoots closer and Carmilla stretches out her legs, lays them over Laura’s lap and crosses her ankles.

She walks her fingers up Laura’s hipbone and takes the hem of her thin tank between her fingers, rubbing it absently. “I like you here.”

A moment of quiet, punctuated by the heavy falling snow.

“Hey, thanks for today,” Laura starts. “I know this isn’t exactly normal. Or, it _is_ normal, which I guess isn’t your normal. What I’m trying to say is, thank for you know, trying. With my dad and everything. I know he can be a bit…” she wrinkles her nose. “Intense.”

“Family trait then.”

Laura gasps in mock outrage. “I’m not intense.”

“Sweetheart, I’ve seen you focused on something. It’s like watching a shark smell blood.”

“Says the vampire.”

Carmilla laughs. “Touché.” And Laura thinks she likes that laugh. She likes _making_ Carmilla laugh.

They stare at each other for a long time, in that way that couples in rom-coms stare at each other, the way that Laura used to think was a bit silly, because why would you just look at someone when you could be talking to them or kissing them. But she gets it now. That breathless wonder at the fact that there’s this whole other person, who is completely separate, but also bound to you, also yours as you are theirs. And it’s corny and soppy, but it makes Laura’s heart feel heavy and full and she can’t stop herself from leaning in and pressing her lips softly against Carmilla’s mouth.

When she pulls back, Carmilla’s eyes are closed and her lips pouted, like she’s expecting more and Laura grins, because she’s adorable and sexy and _hers_ and that knowledge makes Laura all mushy inside.

She’s about to lean back in when Carmilla cracks open her eyes, twitches her nose, and turns to the window.

She lifts it open suddenly, letting in a rush of icy air before kneeling on the seat and leaning out far enough that anyone standing on the back porch at three am would be able to look up and see a dark, disembodied head sticking out from the second floor. Laura shivers and moves forward with intention of pulling Carmilla back inside.

“Carm! It’s freez-”

“Shh,” Carmilla pulls Laura up to mirror her position. “Look.”

Out in the garden, between the snow covered swing set, are two copper-coloured foxes. They tumble over each other, jumping into the snow and coming up with white dusted ears and noses.

Laura laughs delightedly when one tackles the other and Carmilla says, “It’s strange.”

“What is?”

“Foxes don’t usually hunt or travel together. They’re solitary.”

Laura shoots a sidelong glance at Carmilla. “Maybe they were lonely?”

Carmilla watches the foxes with interest and softly concedes. “Maybe.”

They frolic around the swing set for a few more seconds and then scamper off into the treeline and disappear.

“You’re not gonna turn into a cat and chase after them, are you?”

“I’ll resist the urge,” Carmilla replies dryly and leans back to close the window. They’re still kneeling on the window seat, facing each other now.

Carmilla has snowflakes in her hair and on her cheeks and eyelashes. Laura imagines she does too, but against Carmilla, the contrast is striking. She wipes a melting snowflake off the tip of Carmilla’s nose. The cold clinging to her bare arms, making her shiver again and break out in goose bumps.

“You humans,” Carmilla brushes her fingers down Laura’s arm, where little hairs are standing on end, “-are such delicate things.” She trails her fingers up again, this time with her thumb brushing against the side of Laura’s breast. Laura isn’t wearing a bra and the cold has made her nipples strain against her tank top.

“A little snow,” Carmilla continues in that low, breathy voice, “and you’re all prickly and trembling.”

Laura wants to reply that the temperature isn’t why she’s trembling, but says instead, “You don’t feel it? The cold?”

“I experience the sensation of it, but not the discomfort.” Her fingers trail across Laura’s collar bone, and Carmilla watches their progress, fascinated, as if she is not the architect of her actions. “Conceptually, I understand it, remember it.” Her hand stops over Laura’s rapidly beating heart and she presses her palm against it, fingers splayed out like a starfish. “Like the memory of a heartbeat.”

Her eyes flicker between her hand and Laura’s face and slowly Carmilla trails her fingers down until she’s cupping Laura’s breast. Laura sucks in a breath when Carmilla’s thumb brushes over her nipple.

Carmilla’s eyes flit up to meet hers and her gaze is dark and heavy, but she looks tentative, like she’s asking permission and Laura, who at this point has long forgotten the cold and feels like she’s about to spontaneously combust (she wouldn’t be the first Silas student to go down that way), practically lunges forward to take Carmilla’s cheeks between her open palms before bringing their mouths together.

It’s a hard kiss – desperate and a little sloppy, and Laura’s moaning into it like her body’s trying to articulate something her mind hasn’t quite figured out. Carmilla wastes no time in tugging Laura’s top up and over her head, something Laura suspects she’s been wanting to do for a while, and Laura resents the interruption because it means a second of her not kissing Carmilla, which at this point, feels like not breathing – ironic, since her lungs are burning for want of oxygen.

This isn't a problem Carmilla seems to have as she captures Laura’s mouth again, tracing her tongue over Laura’s lips, slowing down until they’ve find a wet, lazy rhythm and Laura finds herself straddling Carmilla’s lap, arms around her neck as she arches into her, moving to a steady beat that thunders through her eardrums screaming _more, more, more_.  Carmilla’s hands are on Laura’s back, her breasts, her waist, pulling her closer until Laura thinks _, Oh god. I’m going to drown in her._  

“Laura,” Carmilla says on a fragile breath. And Laura waits, but there is no more. Just her name. Her name from Carmilla’s intricate mouth. _Laura._ As if it has all the meaning in the world.

Laura finds herself unravelling at an alarming pace. She’s reduced a writhing, wanting, hungry body. It’s not something she’s really felt before, this level of naked, uncontrolled desire. Granted, she’s never been half naked on anyone’s lap before either, but somehow she doesn’t think it would be like this with anyone else.

Laura likes control. She likes knowing what’s going to come next and her part in it. She likes understanding the rules, even if she doesn’t always abide by them.

With Carmilla squirming and bucking under her, there are no definable rules. Her body is a quivering mess of hot, wet _need._ She’s a tagline on the cover of a cheesy romance novel. She’s every cliché she’s ever rolled her eyes at. And she doesn’t care.

Hands in Carmilla’s hair, on her neck, against her shoulders. She pulls at the loose collar of Carmilla’s t-shirt, wishing that she could somehow vanquish it without having to sever the kiss. She tugs the thin material up and over Carmilla’s head, and a tangle of dark hair that fall over bare shoulders. Laura reaches back and unhooks her bra, because it’s only fair that they’re both topless. Carmilla sits back, her naked chest thrust forward, her palms splayed out behind her as Laura bends to kiss her collar bone and then the hollow of her throat. Carmilla allows her head to sag back as Laura’s mouth closes over neck and then, spurred on by that greedy refrain, she bites down.

Carmilla cries out in surprise and Laura jerks up and looks at her in alarm. “Are you-” She’s breathing hard and forming words is difficult. “Was that okay?”

Carmilla swallows and parts her lips and Laura sees the pointed tips of her teeth protruding past her top lip. She wonders if it’s a reaction to the pain, the way a cat lets out its claws when you step on its tail. Carmilla’s eyes are a dark liquid brown, shining with a sort of recklessness that mirrors whatever it is that Laura’s feeling and in a ragged whisper, she says, “Do it again.”

Laura’s heart is beating so hard that she feels it behind her eyelids and at the roots of her hair. She leans forward and kisses Carmilla’s open mouth softly, then very gently, she traces the point of her tongue over those sharp protrusions and Carmilla sucks in a superfluous breath. The memory of a heartbeat, Laura thinks.

She presses her mouth against the side of Carmilla’s lips and then against her cheek. She scrapes her teeth across Carmilla’s jaw and her throat and then finds the sinewy place where her neck meets her shoulders. Lightly at first, Laura closes her teeth over it, but then Carmilla’s hips buck up and she bites down harder until she’s sure her teeth marks will be there in the morning. Carmilla’s making this breathless noise at the back of her throat. Stuttering, like she can’t get enough air, except she doesn’t need air, so it’s nice to know that all of this is the effect of Laura’s ministrations.

Laura sucks on the cool skin she’s just marked. And Carmilla threads her fingers through Laura’s hair tenderly, and then urges her chin up so that Laura looks down at her with unfocused eyes, confused as to why Carmilla’s staring at her with that soft, dopey expression, when they could be kissing. She doesn’t want to do the soulful rom-com stargazing thing right now. She mostly just wants Carmilla’s tongue back in her mouth. But Carmilla looks at her with that fond smile. “C’mon,” she says.

 And then she sits forward and stands like Laura doesn’t weigh a thing, and in three steps they’re tumbling down onto the bed and Laura thinks, _Oh_. 

Laura finds herself looking up at her ceiling and the constellations of stars she stuck there as a child. Then the stars go black and Carmilla’s leaning over her like some predatory jungle cat, considering its quarry.

Laura quite never imagined her first time would be in her childhood bedroom, with her stuffed animal collection in the distance and her vampire girlfriend (girlfriend?) looking like she can’t decide if she wants to bite her or fuck her. Laura imagines it a mixture of both, and finds herself wholly in favour of the idea, which is a little disturbing, but incredibly arousing, so she goes with the latter and reaches up impatiently to bring Carmilla down against her.

But Carmilla resists. “Wait.” And she moves down, tugging at the waistband of Laura’s pyjamas, just enough to expose her hipbone, against which she places a wet kiss. Laura shivers and thrusts up in an involuntary move. She knows what’s about to happen. She’s read the literature. But Carmilla takes her time. She peels off Laura’s bottoms with slow appreciation and vaguely Laura wonders if she should feel self-conscious. All she feels is impatient. Carmilla nuzzles against her inner thigh and makes this rich purring noise that causes Laura’s whole body to vibrate and she thinks, _now. Do it now._

And then Carmilla's mouth is on her.

Laura cries out with a broken moan so loudly that Carmilla lifts her head, and with a slightly smug grin, whispers, “Shh!”

Laura immediately bites down on her lip and nods before canting her hips, urging Carmilla to continue. And continue she does.

Carmilla does things with her tongue and fingers, and Laura tries to distinguish what is happening where, but at this point, she’s a spiralling entity of _want_. Her senses are acute and focused only on the tiny bursts of sensation happening at Carmilla’s attentions, her language limited to a monosyllabic vocabulary with words like “yes” and “oh” and when Carmilla curves her finger _just_ so, “fuck”.

Part of her wants to push Carmilla away, because it’s too much, and she can’t, she _can’t_ and then Carmilla’s mouth closes around her in the most spectacular way and she sucks and Laura’s off careening into oblivion. The stars on her ceiling explode behind her eyelids and everywhere there is light and for the first time in days, the light is not terrifying.

The world gradually comes back into focus, first the darkness and then the high ceiling, the cold on her skin and then Carmilla’s shadow as she climbs up Laura’s body, wet-mouthed and trembling. Her hair sticks to her forehead and Laura reaches up to push it out of her eyes. Her skin is slick and salty.

Vampires sweat. The realisation shouldn’t be surprising, but it is and vaguely Laura thinks that she may have to read up on Lafontaine’s findings after all. Laura wants to know _everything_ about Carmilla’s body.  

When Carmilla kisses her this time, it isn’t with blood on her tongue. And so Laura kisses back urgently, wanting it all. She feels like Carmilla is absorbing her drop by drop. Blood, sex, heart. She wonders how much of herself will be left in the end.

She reaches down then, because she realises that Carmilla’s still in her jeans and together they fumble with the button until Carmilla sits up on her knees with a huff, her hair a wild mess around her shoulders. She gets her jeans past her butt, but then has to fall back down to kick them off her ankles with a grunt of annoyance and Laura laughs breathily, because Carmilla’s frustration is endearing.

When she finally turns to Laura and they’re lying face to face, almost nose to nose and Laura thinks if it weren’t so dark she might have been able to count Carmilla’s eyelashes.

“Hi,” Laura whispers, feeling prickles of shyness now that she’s actually looking at Carmilla.

“Hey.”

“So, this is happening.”

“Yeah.” Carmilla blinks slowly, studying Laura’s face for a long time before reaching out and tucking Laura’s hair behind her ear.

When Laura nudges forward, they kiss gently, unhurriedly and the throb in Laura’s belly is like a warm, dull ache that Carmilla’s fingers agitate as they skirt across her skin. She knows what she’s doing. She knows where to touch Laura, and where to tease.

Laura leans up on her elbow, her hair falling over Carmilla’s chest as she explores her way down.

One of the many discoveries this expedition south yields, is that it’s surprisingly easy to turn a centuries old badass into a cursing, sweaty mess.

So easy, that Laura decides that it might be her new favourite thing. Especially when Carmilla lets out that breathy moan that sounds like, “Oh god, Laura. Laura. Laura. Laura.” And the word starts to sound strange after a while, like Carmilla’s speaking another language entirely.

And when Laura uses her fingers the way Carmilla did, Carmilla arches off the bed and shudders and then she’s pulling Laura back up and kissing her fiercely, desperately, and Laura thinks her cheeks may be wet, but she can’t tell because their faces are so close. And Carmilla smells like her, or she smells like Carmilla, she’s not sure which.

She falls asleep without meaning to, with her body wrapped around Carmilla’s and Carmilla’s hair splashed out on the pillows and tickling her face, and when she wakes, the sun is high and bright against their naked bodies. The clock above her bookshelf ticks towards ten twenty-two and Laura pulls her arm out from under her. It goes from numb to tingly as she stretches.  

Laura pushes herself up. Carmilla’s body in the daylight is different. She can see the little mole on Carmilla’s shoulder and the silvery scar on her breast and suddenly, out of nowhere, Laura thinks, _Oh. So this is love._

Carmilla stirs against her, ever so subtly and Laura says, “It’s morning.”

With a whine of displeasure she turns away from the window and burrows into Laura’s chest, grumbling about diurnals. “It’s bed time.”

Laura laughs. “C’mon, it’s stocking day.”

Carmilla blinks up at her with a scowl. “What day?”

“We hang up our name stockings and Angela comes over and we drink nog.” When Carmilla looks personally offended by the entire concept Laura huffs, “It’s a tradition.”

“It’s not my tradition.” She scoots even closer until her face is entirely smooshed against Laura’s warm chest and for a long time, Carmilla just lies there and Laura can’t tell if she’s asleep or not, because there’s no tell-tale change to her breathing. So, she threads her fingers through Carmilla’s hair, pushing it back to see her face.

“Well, if you don’t hang up a stocking, how will you get any presents?” Laura asks, as if this is A plus logic.

And Carmilla sighs, then pulls back a little and looks up at Laura as if it were the most obvious thing. “Cupcake, what else in this whole, godforsaken world could I possibly want right now?”

Then she pulls Laura down into that cold winter sun and Laura thinks that maybe some traditions are worth breaking… or at least postponing for another hour or two.

______ 

It's not until much, _much_ later, when Carmilla gets up to close the curtains (because there's only so much sun a vampire can take) that they notice the two pamphets, roughly shoved under Laura's bedroom door. Carmills lifts one, and with a curved eyebrow, reads the bold letters on the front.

_Sex a Pain? Just Abstain!_

She looks to Laura with a horrified expression and Laura discovers another biological oddity.

Apparently vampires blush.

 


End file.
